Not Drunk, Hero
by Clara Fonteyn
Summary: Zoë Nightshade sets herself free. Written for PowerofWords12's contest, Round 3.


_Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson and the Olympians._

Zoë sank down heavily on the wood swing seat. The rest of hunters were far behind, Artemis leading them in the other direction on the tail of some monster. Zoë had asked for a leave, so to say, to collect her thoughts.

"Lady Artemis," she had asked, stepping through the tent door inquisitively.

"Mm. Zoë," Artemis answered. "Anything you need?"

"A favor, my lady."

"Yes?" Artemis looked up from the pile of papers in front of her. Maps, mostly, but also a few others in which Zoë had no interest.

"We were going to go west to find the monster, yes, my lady?"

"We are," Artemis agreed. "But what is it that you request, Zoë?"

"I was wondering if it was possible for me to…take an absence, my lady. Only if it pleases thee," she added on hurriedly.

Artemis was silent a long while, contemplating her decision. "I would let you go, Zoë, but you know that—"

"Please, lady. I beg thee."

Perhaps Artemis had seen the desperation in Zoë's eyes. Maybe she heard the neediness in her voice. Perchance she remembered that July fourteenth had a special significance for Zoë. Whatever the reason, her eyes softened.

"All right, Zoë. You may leave. But make sure that you are back here by the sixteenth. Do not be even a day late. I trust you with this, Zoë. Do not break my trust."

"I will not, my lady. You may be assured that I will be back on time."

"Good. All the Huntresses are packing for tomorrow. Do you wish to leave tomorrow morning, or tonight?"

"If it is possible, then I would like to leave now. I would prefer not to explain to the others why I am leaving."

"All right. You have the permission of Artemis to leave from the Huntresses for two days."

"Thank you, my lady." Sincerity rang in Zoë's every syllable. "Thank you very, very much." Artemis nodded and looked back towards her maps and papers. Bowing once, Zoë backed out of the tent.

As soon as she was outside, she turned and she ran. She ran out of the clearing where the group of girls was busy packing what was left of food and their clothes. She never looked back.

_She ran until her lungs were gasping for air. She ran until her legs threatened to snap. She ran until her head was pounding like mad._

_ When you need to escape, you run. You run like you're dying. Because you are, sometimes._

In the meantime, dusk turned to dark. Sometime around midnight, Zoë had to stop. She was gasping for breath, her lungs begging for air. For the first time, she stopped to look around. It was a beautiful clearing, where water in the form of a brook gurgled happily through flowers and trees waving their boughs happily. Nearby, a heavy wooden swing hanging from the branches of a solid tree swung invitingly.

Looking at the wild garden only reminded her of the sisters she had left behind long ago. A pain filled her chest, a kind of heartache she had left behind long ago.

She sank into the swing, keeping her feet planted firmly on the ground.

The moon was now directly overhead.

Zoë tried her hardest to keep the thoughts threatening to enter her head at bay, but they came again, as usual. Like they came every year on July 14.

They crowded her head in masses, these thoughts; thoughts of her sisters, thoughts of her father, thoughts of Ladon, as well. Thoughts of the Titan War, and thoughts of stories Atlas had told her.

And the ones she _hated_, the ones she hated with an unholy anger.

Thoughts of Hercules.

There were thousands of images of _him_. Laughing, teasing, valiant, brave, strong, but each picture was undeniably _him_.

Zoë didn't want them. If only it were possible to throw them out, burn them, sell them—anything in order to remove them from where they were seared in her brain and in her heart.

"I hate thee!" she screamed.

Scowling, fighting, challenging, mocking, sullen—more and more pictures entered Zoë's mind, like they were mocking her, too.

"Why cannot they just leave me?" she sobbed to the sky, baying at the moon like a mad wolf.

Every year, on this very date, the pictures disrupted Zoë's life. She saw who she hated most, because he was who she had once loved most. She knew it was punishment. Atlas, wherever he was, in whatever condition he was, still tortured her every July 14, because that was the day she betrayed him.

She closed her eyelids.

"Why do you punish me, fath—Atlas?" she screamed. "Why can you not forgive me?" The answer she knew, but she asked anyway.

"What sick satisfaction do you get in my anguish?"

Then the object of her anger changed quickly. It changed quickly, to Hercules.

"I will not say thy atrocious name, _hero_," Zoë shouted furiously. "I will never let it cross my lips again! But I will tell thy horrible soul, _hero_, something that I have let rankle in me for all these years: I _hate_ thee!"

The sound of his laughter filled her head. A laugh that she had once found attractive, but now found nothing but an irritating bark.

"No!" she resisted. "_No!_ You ruined my life! You destroyed my family! You used me—and then you betrayed me!

"You sentenced me to exile! It was because of thee that I could not live a normal life," Zoë shrieked. "And then, even now, you punish me still, with images of thy own conceited self? Curse you!"

She laughed then, a manic laugh. "_Hero_—listen to me and mark my words: I hate you.

"Once, perhaps, once, long ago, I was drunk on your love. Once, perhaps, long, long ago, I longed for your affections. Once, long ago, I swore I would love you forever."

Zoë laughed again, but this time it was a derisive laughter that mocked Hercules and Atlas and any man who might cross paths with her ever again. "_Hero_—forever is over!"

Zoë Nightshade pushed back with all her might, swinging backwards high above her true height until she was even with the tops of the trees. Rosy fingered dawn, child of day, had begun to peek out from beyond the horizon, and the day was about to begin. July fourteenth was about to begin, and for the first time in a time too long to count, Zoë was free.

For the third time in her life as a hunter, she laughed. The laugh was true; the laugh was real, and the laugh finally, _finally_ set her free.

"Forever is over, _hero_! I might have been drunk once, but now…_hero_, now, I am not drunk anymore."

**End.**

**A/N**: To anyone French or of French descent: I'm sorry about the date; it was not intentional…and, erm…Happy (early) Bastille Day?

Also, to the judges, I am very sorry that this was late, but there was a family issue, and I wasn't able to write this earlier. Thank you for not kicking me out. :D

***

The quote of inspiration was "I used to be love drunk, but now I'm hung over. Love you forever, forever is over." from _Love Drunk_ by Boys Like Girls.


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